Why Do I Mean Nothing?
by SirienneHolmes
Summary: John seems put-out by his recent break-up and Sherlock decides to be nice, worried that their friendship will never be the same. Johnlock, fluff sort of, T for a few curse words.


**Why Do I Mean Nothing?**

Things had been uncomfortable in the flat, that was certain. In fact, I could cut the tenseness in the air with my riding crop. But why? I was used to being the sullen one, the difficult one. Now, John had become just that, and snapping at him would do no good.

So I transformed myself, kind of brought out a softer side meant for delicate clients, and sort of forced myself to be less of, as John described me once, a dick. It was difficult, but not impossible, and I found that my results were exceptional. But, as to the situation.

John had broken things off with Sarah a month ago, and while I rejoiced that he was by my side and my side only, and reasoned with him that danger, excitement was what he really wanted, and pointed out that Sarah was none of those things and not even remotely _interesting_, all these things seemed to provoke an argument. We quickly switched from the lively conversation of our friendship to not talking at all, and neither of us had made an effort to reconcile. I had cases, John had work, and for the longest time, we were apart. But I was sincerely and deeply lost without John. I felt that my deductions were hollow, that I worked like a computer even more than I had dared to compare myself to before, and that solving cases seemed empty. Never mind that I actually had to make my _own_ food if I was starving after a case, which I usually was. And John, I could tell, was doing no better seeing Sarah at the surgery every day. I simply _had_ to do something. I _needed_ John desperately. It was at times like this that I wondered how I'd ever got on without him.

Why did I suddenly mean nothing to this man? He didn't even _see_ me anymore, even if we crossed paths in the flat! So, I decided right then and there that I would change my attitude and be nice. So now, we are all caught up.

Now, I tended to switch between being a heavy and a light sleeper, although I believe I was mostly a light one. Though I had observed by now that not sleeping for a long period of time actually slowed down my mental processes and made me extraordinarily grumpy, I hated sleeping. It was a waste of eight hours at its best, and a waste of valuable time in general. But, when I slept, I was up before John. In fact, in general, I woke up exactly one hour and forty minutes before John, and I knew he was up when the shower turned on.

So it was this morning, the first day that I decided to be nice. I was awake as usual, but I ignored the urge to play my violin, fearing to wake up John. Instead, I went into the kitchen and began to prepare breakfast for him. I wasn't hungry and didn't need to eat. Although today was an eating day, I was aware I could go several hours yet before I absolutely needed food to survive. I made two hard boiled eggs (easier than a fry-up) and made tea for myself and coffee for John, as I had observed him drinking more coffee than usual since the break-up. I also made toast and, after searching back through my mind palace trying to remember if I'd done anything to the butter, buttered the slices, and then left them out on the table for John. I poured him a cup of coffee and took my tea into the other room, just as the shower was running. I made the extra effort to go into my bedroom and get my own laptop (knowing how much it irked John that I used his) and opened it, turning it on. I then sat down and opened up my blog, where I did some routine maintenance on the site and updated some sections. Then, I checked my email. After that, I sat down to finish my blog post on the sexing of spiders when John came down stairs. I looked up with a smile, hoping the coffee hadn't gone cold. "Morning!"

John stopped and gave me a look of suspicion, then walked into the kitchen. Well, he wasn't talking, but it was something. I held back my laughter at his gasp when he saw the breakfast, and watched out of the corner of my eye as he inspected it for any of my experiments. Finding it free of anything normally set out by me, he sat down to eat it, drinking the coffee. Oh! The morning paper! Of course, how could I be so stupid! I got up and retrieved the paper from our doorstep. I went into the kitchen on the pretext of refilling my tea, which I did. On the way out, I passed the paper to him across the table. John looked at me as I passed, and muttered a small "thanks" that I barely caught, so distracted was I as I thought both about the post I was writing and other nice things that could be done.

"You're welcome," I said after a moment, going back to my blog post as if I'd never left my chair. Within the hour, John had to go to work. I watched him leave, and then I clasped my hands in front of my mouth, chewing on my lip as I thought. I had the whole day to plan nice things for John when he got home in five hours and fifteen minutes.

Most of these things wouldn't actually apply for a while, so I set myself a phone alarm just in case I got absorbed in something. Today was not a case day, but I got dressed anyway, deciding I would go to Angelo's for a free lunch. I didn't really have to eat right at the moment, but I was peckish, not having eaten in four days. Besides, by the time I would be desperate for food, John would be home, and I was supposed to be doing nice things _for him_. I pulled on my coat and went to Angelo's. I ordered a tuna and mayonnaise sandwich and ate quickly. Then, I went back to the flat and continued writing my blog post. When my phone alerted me it was time for the preparations to begin, I got up and began.

First, I angled John's chair towards the television screen. Then, I made him a few tomato, mozzarella, and basil toasties and put them in the oven so they'd stay warm. I made coffee. In the last fifteen minutes before John's inevitable arrival home, I set out the dinner I'd made on the table for easy access and put the television remote on the arm of John's chair. I had just enough time to pretend to have been working on my spider sexing work all day when John came in the door, exhausted, and headed right for the kitchen. He'd taken his coat off but neglected to hang it, so I got up and did it for him. John brought the plate of toasties and coffee into the living room and sat down in front of the telly. Then, he started flipping channels. I ignored the sarcastic "you're welcome" that hovered just under my tongue, and instead settled for flipping down on the couch. I was just getting ready to put on two nicotine packages (I was desperately craving a smoke) when John got up and walked towards me. He was smiling.

"You made me dinner," he said. "Thank you, Sherlock."

I wanted to say 'I made you breakfast, too,' but I held my tongue and settled for a smile. "You're welcome." I couldn't force myself to say anything domestic like 'it was no trouble at all' for fear of sounding like Mrs. Hudson. But the simple exchange seemed to work well enough for John, who dozed off in the chair. After I was sure John was asleep, I turned off the telly and double-checked the kitchen for any rotting or forgotten experiments before wandering back to my room. I changed into my pajamas just to be more comfortable and lay down on my bed. I hadn't intended to sleep, but my head hurt, so I eventually drifted off.

So it was for a week. John and I slowly began to talk more often, and we made jokes and laughed a little. John complimented my skills in the kitchen, and I simply went on being kind, noticing new little details every day.

Until that Friday, when I had a case.

It was an interesting case, too, and one that required a lot of legwork. It was a sort of "gift" from Mycroft, some triple-murder of Cambridge seniors who lived in the west end. I didn't tell John about the case, cautious that asking for his help might undo all I had done. I tried to keep on top of things, kept doing nice things for John, but the case was exhausting. It had me running all over London, back and forth between the University and the houses of the girls in the west end, and then back to Baker Street when I needed to collect my thoughts or make dinner for John. I was no longer taking care of myself at all.

Now, I never eat and sleep while I'm on a case, but during this case, I'd strained myself thin, between the case itself and taking care of John, that I rarely drank anything! In fact, I felt that I was always on my feet, and there was never a moment's rest! For five and a half days, I was preoccupied, running between the case and John and back again, so that by the time the villain had been caught (one of the teachers, whom I had suspected from the start but had needed extensive proof to warrant his arrest) and my statement taken, I was almost ready to pass out.

And dammit, if I was late to make John dinner! I felt very bad for my cabbie, for I gave him hell, and after I was home, nearly ran over Mrs. Hudson in my haste to get upstairs, only to find that John had made his own dinner, that I was too late, and that, quite possibly, our friendship was never to be repaired. John looked up, though, when I came in, and I saw worry cross his face.

"Sherlock! You look like death!" He got up and approached me, but I was resistant.

"I'm fine, John," I insisted, although I really wasn't. I was fatigued beyond a reasonable doubt. I was starving and my throat burned with thirst, but I needed to make sure that John was taken care of first. "I was going to make you dinner, but they kept me at the Yard too long, I—" But I instantly regretted telling the truth. John's eyes grew wide, and I remembered that I hadn't told him where I'd been disappearing to for five—very nearly six—days.

"You were on a _case_?" John's manner seemed angry. "And you didn't _tell_ me?"

I blinked, so afraid that our friendship was ruined. I just wanted my John back, which was why I was doing all these nice things. Insensible with exhaustion, hunger, and thirst, I almost burst into tears at his tone and what I perceived as anger. "Sorry!" I apologized (and later, I would be shocked to discover that the great Sherlock Holmes had, in fact, apologized), panting as I tried to get a proper breath. "You were busy at the surgery and I didn't want to bother you with some silly triple homicide."

"I _like_ cases, though!" John laughed in frustration. "Damn! Sounds like I missed a good one!"

I was happier, now that John was happy. Feeling I had to sit before I fell to my knees, I collapsed into my chair and ran a hand through my dark curls. "Yes you did! I think you would've enjoyed it! I could've used your help, actually," I admitted, remembering how many times I'd had to traverse across London and back just to corroborate witness testimonies.

"Yeah." Suddenly, John's face flamed with recognition, than his expression warmed. "Sherlock," he began gently, "you _still_ fixed me breakfast _and_ made me dinner while you were on a _case_?"

I nodded breathlessly, my head pounding. "Problem?" I grinned.

Suddenly, John pressed his lips against mine. I was startled for a moment before what was happening felt natural, and I simply enjoyed myself. When John pulled away, he was smiling, his dark blue eyes soft. "Thank you so much, Sherlock," he kissed my forehead, running his fingers through his curls. "You really helped me get out of my funk!"

I chuckled. "Good!" But then I winced in pain. I was starved and dehydrated, and my head spun madly with dizziness.

John saw my suffering and brushed his lips against mine. "Looks like it's my turn to take care of you," he chuckled. "How about a nice warm toastie? Sound good?"

I nodded, licking my lips. I was glad we were friends and, now that John had kissed me, more. I probably wouldn't be aware for how much love I felt for John until after I'd had something to eat, but I knew it was there.

Because John Watson was a part of me. And I couldn't live without him.

My blogger. My doctor. My John.


End file.
